


A First Name Basis

by Maze316



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, F/M, Flashbacks, Slang, Wilson is trans, charlie/maxwell but also not, maxwell can have little a bisexuality as a treat, maxwell gets beat up a lot to atone for his sins, theres a pet rabbit in this one, vanilla ds rather than dst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22772533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maze316/pseuds/Maze316
Summary: Wilson has found himself off the throne, back in the constant, and allies with his worst nemesis. He's survived worse before -- at least, that's what he tells himself. The shadows grow restless, and old flames flare. The good times come and the good times go. The past rears its ugly head, and yet, the future seems brighter than ever.The New Reign has just begun.
Relationships: Charlie/Maxwell (Don't Starve), Maxwell & Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I use a lot of time-appropriate slang so throw your favorite search engine in another tab! Or don't, and practice your context clues and enjoy.

“A dream?” Wilson opened his eyes in the morning light. His head pounded like he’d feasted on mandrakes. He was nowhere near camp, and somehow, he’d lost his map.

Faint memories danced in the back of his mind. Piercing cold, endless shadows, the Grand Prick Himself. It seemed so vivid. Yet, he’d always dreamed vividly. A dream. Sure. That was the logical answer. 

“Must be at camp,” he murmured as he felt his bare back. For once, he felt light without his supplies. The vulnerability was terrifying. 

With spare flint, he threw together an axe. Just in case. The trees were plentiful here. He paved a path for himself in trunks. One direction at a time, he would find home.

He glanced up to see the sun getting cozy with the horizon. Twilight already? He brushed the dirt off his clothes and strapped his axe to his back. It was a while since he had to make an impromptu camp, but it would work. His sharp eyes darted to any sign of movement. Survival never became old hat.

Something caught his eye. Smoke? A campfire! “Home.” He hightailed it toward the rising fumes. He could already see it: a soft fur roll and hard stone walls. He couldn’t help but smile. 

The closer he got, the more his smile fell. He still couldn't recognize the neighboring woods. He didn’t even see the traps he knew he put out for the rabbits. In fact — something must have dug up the dens.

It hit him all at once.

The door, the puzzles, the insanity, the spite…

...And the final monster sat just in front of him, warming himself by a fire.

He pulled the axe from his back. He squeezed the handle hard enough to give him splinters. He stalked forward. This was ending now. 

And, of course, he didn’t see the stick before the sound of it snapping caught the attention of his acquaintance.

"Woah there, pal." Maxwell lifted his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you." 

"Why should I believe that? _Pal?_ " Wilson asked.

"You did free me from the throne. I owe you that much." 

Wilson stared at his foe, his mind turning circles. Without even a science machine to open his mind, the fog of the nightmare throne still permeated. Only a handful of carrots and berries filled his stomach; the abundant logs he carried barely seemed worth their weight.

"...Who freed you?" Maxwell asked him.

"I don't know," Wilson admitted.

"Describe them for me, will you?"

"Uh, well… she had some kind of multiple personality disorder. One moment she seemed nice, and the next—" 

"What did she look like?" Maxwell interrupted. 

"Uh, she had short hair. When it was hair. And a round face, and—"

"Was she wearing a rose?"

"Yeah, she was. I thought it was odd. Roses don't seem to grow here."

Maxwell didn't register what he said, instead, he muttered something to himself.

"What?" Wilson asked.

"Charlie," Maxwell responded, "her name is Charlie."

"You… know her?"

"Of course I do. I suspect you may have been acquainted once or twice as well?"

"I don't think…"

"Have you ever felt the piercing embrace of the darkness, Mr. Higgsbury?"

"That's a lady?" Wilson exclaimed.

"She is indeed. The woman who stalks the night, with shadows for pets."

"And you're on a first name basis with the darkness?"

"Yes. She was sucked into the constant with me." Maxwell looked up to the sky. "Speaking of which, night is coming. You're free to join my campfire, if you wish."

"But, if she's on the throne…"

"I wouldn't put it past Charlie to still wander the night, Higgsbury."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. Without taking his eyes off of Maxwell, he rounded the fire. He positioned himself parallel to the other man and sat down. He held tight to his axe.

"Has she ever attacked you?" Wilson asked.

"I haven't given her the chance," Maxwell explained. "I haven't… spoken to her, properly, in years. You're correct in your hypothesis of her personality disorder. It was much harder for her when we came here… I believe her alter ego was a defense mechanism against the shadows."

"Wait, wait. Why should I trust a word you say? I don't buy that you owe me anything. You kept trying to keep me away from that throne."

Maxwell let out a sigh. From his lap, he pulled a black leather-bound tome.

"If I wanted to, I would've killed you ten times over by now."

Wilson stiffened. "You're not serious!"

"I can demonstrate, if you'd like."

"No, no." Wilson shivered. "Throw it into the fire."

"Excuse me?"

"Destroy it if it's that powerful."

"My boy, this is the only thing that's kept me alive for this long." He set the book back safely in his lap. Wilson stared at his companion across the campfire. His gloves had been torn away in places to reveal red flesh. Layers of dirt encrusted around what little skin showed.

"Fine. Okay. Charlie. How did you trick her into it?"

“Why must you assume I tricked her?”

“Because you tricked me.”

“Touché, touché. No, I did not trick her into anything. I may have… been cocky, but neither of us knew what we were getting into.”

Wilson turned over the axe in his hands, examining its dull edge. “I never figured you existed outside of this place.”

“I sometimes ponder if I ever did.”

“What were you, a lawyer?”

“Very funny,” Maxwell deadpanned. “No, I was a prestidigitator.”

“You were a _magician?_ ” Wilson burst into laughter. He clutched his stomach and exaggerated the humor, only for it to come to life. Tears seeped from his eyes as he breathed in the campfire smoke and started coughing just as fiercely. 

“Let me show you,” Maxwell said, and lifted the book from his lap. As he cracked the book open, a shadow slithered from the already pitch night. It shaped itself into a silhouette of its master. “Call that sleight of hand,” he challenged. 

Wilson’s coughing became more panicked. He scooted away from the shape; his expression gave way to horror. 

“Good God,” he murmured. He moved only to the outer horizon of the light. Frozen, he watched the shadow mimic Maxwell’s subtle movements. Shallow breaths. Minute movements of joints. Maybe, even, it blinked.

Wilson swallowed hard. Briefly, he turned his back to it and started fiddling in his inventory. 

"What are you doing?" Maxwell asked.

"Leaving." Wilson lit his newly crafted torch.

"It was just a little joke."

"I've had enough of your jokes." Without a second glance, Wilson walked off into the forest. Maxwell said nothing more.

* * *

Wilson didn’t lay eyes on his enemy for the rest of the day. He trekked as far as his small belly would carry him. Then he set up camp. He wracked his brain for recipes he hadn’t used in ages. No gold, yet, and no science machine. 

Still, he could spot rabbits in the distance. He crafted traps and set them around their dens. Scattered boulders gave him enough stone for a proper fire pit. A worm hole gaped in the distance — something to explore another day. By the time the sun set, he had a somewhat proper meal and a meager grass suit. 

Maybe this new camp would be okay, he thought.

That was, until he heard the screaming. 

His body, firmly shifted into survival mode, moved on autopilot. He pulled together a torch. Spear in hand, he ran toward the noise. Whatever it was, he thought, would not get him before he got it.

He spotted a fire, but no one was home. Moans echoed through the forest. He followed. Just out of the fire's reach, he saw a shadow amongst the trees. He had to look twice — no, this was no monster. Not externally, at least.

"Maxwell, where is it? Which way did it go?" Wilson scanned the woods around them. He slowly backed closer to the collapsed man.

"The Charlie I knew is dead," Maxwell wailed. 

"Are you insane?"

"I must be, my friend."

Wilson huffed. He put his spear aside. 

"Can you get up?”

“Leave me to die, Higgsbury. Now's your chance.”

“That's exactly what you'd want.” He grabbed Maxwell's arm and dragged. Fetal, he did not resist as Wilson slid him to the campfire. It was dying. He threw the torch in and pawed his person for logs — there. He tossed a couple onto the smoldering rocks.

Wilson nudged Maxwell closer to the fire. Red smeared down the side of his face. Blood. He took spare papyrus and dabbed at the wound. As the blood cleared, he knew instantly what it was. A perfect kiss mark had been planted on his cheek. Red lips bled without heed. 

"Quite the icy mitt," Wilson observed.

“It was — a warning,” Maxwell gasped. 

“What do you mean, a warning?”

“Wilson. This wasn’t a mercy. It was a coup.”

“I don’t understand a thing you’re saying.”

Maxwell propped himself up on one arm. The other hovered above his wound. His labored breath gradually slowed.

“Long ago, I promised her the world. Now… it seems she’s taken it for herself.”

* * *

By the time the sun rose, the wound had more or less clotted. Fresh red still seeped out from under the papyrus. The contents of a spider gland were freed from its sac and smeared on the scab. Maxwell cursed under his breath. 

“You continue to surprise me, Higgsbury,” he said as the pain subsided. “I never expected you to come back.”

“I didn’t either,” Wilson said curtly.

“Then why? Why bother?”

“I thought I could fight it off when it was distracted with you. Whatever ‘it’ was. I realized you make good bait.”

“Very funny.”

“Hold this.” Wilson placed a square of papyrus to the kiss. “I also realized you know more about this world than anyone. I’m a scientist. It’d be immoral for me to let go of a source of knowledge.”

Maxwell winced as he pressed down on the bandage. “Cut the crap. We both know we’re the only allies we have.”

“You’re dreaming.”

“I propose we make a pact.”

“Okay, you get the pigs as long as I get the bunnymen.”

“We work together to survive Charlie’s reign.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really, we just agree to an armistice, and assist each other with survival when necessary. I’m not implying we become friends.”

“And you’ll share your magical secrets?”

“Only if you share your science-y doodads.”

“I suppose.”

“Deal?” Maxwell reached out a hand. Wilson focused on his eyes. He saw no malenovence, at least, none that he could tell. His mouth was not curled into a smirk, but serious.

Wilson reeled back and socked him in the other cheek.

“Deal.”

“You _hornswoggler_ ,” Maxwell spat.

“I couldn’t help myself.”

“The only reason I won’t cut you down this instant is the fact you spared my wound.”

“I wouldn’t ruin my own work like that.”

“Listen, you devil. You may have freed me from the throne, but you’re no saint. We’re in the same boat, and I will be rid of you before it sinks.” 

“You’re one to talk. I think you’re bluffing about this entire mess. You have no idea what you’re doing out here, do you?”

Maxwell frowned ever so slightly. 

“That’s what I thought.” Wilson shook his head. “Find me gold, and we can talk about our pact.”

* * *

“Here,” came a voice, followed by a dull _thump_. Wilson jumped and dropped the carrot hovering above his campfire. He swiveled around to see Maxwell scowling down at him. On the ground, light caught his eye.

“Gold!” He leaped up with the nugget in his hands. “You found it.” He started dumping out his possessions around his camp. He gathered enough logs and stones to get to work.

“You’re welcome,” Maxwell droned.

Wilson’s hands flew. He laid out the supports for his science machine. Logs were lined up in strange patterns, and stones soon followed. Maxwell approached to watch. The carrot slowly caramelized.

“What on earth are you doing?” Maxwell asked.

“Science!” Wilson’s face grew into a smile. “Here, here, hold this for me.” He handed Maxwell a log. Maxwell squinted at it.

A minute later Wilson motioned him forward. “Hold it right there. Yeah.” He moved Maxwell’s arm to a strange angle. With crude rope, he tied it to the rudimentary structure. Stones reinforced the gangly machine. He pulled out his axe and started shaping another log. 

“You’re going to maim yourself,” Maxwell warned.

Wilson ignored him. Strips of wood manifested from his lumber. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the flint of his axe. Wheels were shaped with his calloused hands. 

Maxwell started to recognize the machine he’d seen Wilson throw together before. It was much more impressive in person, although he would never admit it. It seemed much larger than he remembered. 

“There!” Wilson announced as he backed up to admire his creation. “No, wait, let me—” He added one more stone to it. “There! The Science Machine!”

“Now what?” Maxwell asked.

“Now, I can make…” Wilson foraged for more flint on the ground. With a pull of the lever, the machine helped him make a new tool. “This!”

“You had to do all that to make a shovel?” Maxwell asked.

“You try to flatten a rock with your bare hands,” Wilson challenged.

“Alright, alright. What else?”

“That’s the fun. You figure it out for yourself.” Wilson wandered from the machine and gathered his possessions. “I’m going to make a chest for all this.”

“Do we have any means of defense?” Maxwell asked.

“I’ve made spears with that before.”

“A spear. Yup.” Maxwell found his own collection of flint and fiddled with it.

“Be careful with her. She’s a work of art!”

“Haven’t you been afternoonified,” Maxwell muttered. 

* * *

By the end of the day, they were surrounded by inventions. Farms, drying racks, a pitchfork stuck in the corner. Chests were filled with provisions. Each man had a handful of freshly cooked morsels. 

For once, the darkness didn’t send shivers down their spines. 

“So,” Wilson said between mouthfuls, “Were you and Charlie…?”

“Courting?” Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “No, no, our relationship was strictly professional.” 

“I see.”

“Although… I had my own visions. For us.”

Wilson silently wished he had corn to pop.

“We were close. Of course, when I first hired her, it was a mentor/pupil type relationship. I taught her everything I knew about showmanship. She was a natural. The expectation of an assistant was to stand there and look pretty. But her enthusiasm… I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

“I always imagined once I mastered the Codex, we would be set. The show was already a hit. With enough funds, we could go up north and get a place near her sister. Do little shows here and there. Keep her gigglemug bright. And who knows where things would go from there…”

Maxwell’s eyes had settled on the dancing flames of the campfire. The gears in his head turned, and he looked up suddenly.

“I haven’t had anyone to talk to in a dreadfully long time,” he said. 

“You haven’t started talking to the rabbits?” Wilson asked.

Maxwell laughed. “They remind me too much of Harris.” 

“Was that your original assistant?” 

“That he was.”

Wilson’s runaway smile was suddenly reigned in. He glanced at the fire and back, not able to keep his eyes in one place. “Well, it’s your turn for watch.” He pulled a grass roll from his backpack and flattened it. He laid down, facing adamantly away from the fire. 

“I feel as though I’m going mad myself, Higgsbury,” Maxwell murmured.

* * *

He was never a deep sleeper. He hypothesized that was the cause for his vivid dreams: they floated close to the surface of his consciousness. 

He wasn’t, however, a psychologist. 

When he opened his eyes, it was still dark. A dim halo of light enveloped him. The moon above was but a claw. He heard murmuring — the monsters, surely, were after him, about to strike — then, he recognized the voice. 

“...wish I could’ve met her. She seemed like quite the bricky woman.” Wilson could just barely make out Maxwell’s words. He struggled to keep his breathing as shallow as the dead. “We really should have gone to visit. The show could’ve waited. Maybe things would’ve turned out… differently.”

Wilson dared to look over his shoulder. Maxwell sat in the very edges of the firelight. His arms held his gangly legs as he spoke into the night.

“We could’ve had some time to think… Some time together. Cleared our heads. Maybe I would’ve told you the truth about the book. Or maybe I wouldn’t. I don’t know.”

Maxwell grabbed a stick. He prodded at the ground and disturbed the topsoil. He didn’t look away; he couldn’t seem to keep eye contact with the darkness.

“I never meant for any of this to happen, Charlie. I didn’t know — I didn’t think —” he sighed. “I was arrogant. You know this. I was never one for compromise. One of my fatal flaws, I suppose. And you never should have gotten caught up in my obsessions.”

Movement caught Wilson’s eye. A clawed hand slunk from the darkness, out of Maxwell's line of sight. Wilson stiffened. By the time he would be able to get out of the bed roll, it would be too late. Maybe if he closed his eyes and went back to sleep…

"Damn!" Maxwell realized the threat. Wilson heard desperate steps. "Leave here!" Maxwell hissed as he hefted more logs onto the campfire. Wide-eyed, Wilson watched the hand retreat. 

Maxwell let out a sigh. Wilson perked his ears to hear silence. His mind started to ache with curiosity. Then, he was poked in the back.

"Higgsbury. Your watch."

Wilson played groggy as he turned around. Maxwell held the end of his stick toward him, prepared to prod him again.

"Fine, fine, I'm awake."


	2. Part 2

When Maxwell arose, he found Wilson taking sharpened flint to his neck.

“Have you decided to off yourself so soon?” he asked.

“I’m shaving.”

“Shaving what?”

Wilson glowered at him. He dropped his hands to flaunt half of a beard. Maxwell raised an eyebrow. 

“How did you do that?”

“I have a very talented face.”

“In all the time I’ve been here, I’ve never once had to shave.” 

“Never?”

“Doesn’t seem to want to grow on me.” He brushed at his cheeks. “Even now, when I’m off the throne.”

“You’re kidding!” Wilson tried not to smile as he slowly carved another forest of hair from his beard. “Here, you want some?”

“Stop trying to make the bird laugh, Higgsbury.”

“Okay, you have to stop with the weird old slang. I haven’t heard that one before,” Wilson admitted. 

“To make a stuffed bird laugh?” Maxwell asked. “It means to say something preposterous. For example, implying I would ever want some of your whiskers.”

“Phonus balonus!” Wilson responded.

“Is that some strange Latin you invented?”

“That’s how we speak in the future,” Wilson said. “We call it Frog Latin.”

“Maybe ending up here was a blessing in disguise. Then again, I ended up with you.”

“Not my fault.” Wilson stroked his newly smooth face. “Well, I’m going hunting today. We need to stockpile food. It goes faster than you’d think.” He opened a chest and traded his razor for a backpack. “Wherever you got that gold, we need more rocks. And gold. And whatever else you can find.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll run your little errands.”

“You’ll thank me when we have a proper camp.” Wilson stuffed the rest of his provisions in his pack and hefted it onto his back. “I’ll see you before the sun sets.” He turned to follow the path of traps he’d set the day before.

He returned to camp with his bag filled to the brim. Carrots, berries, morsels, and even a couple drumsticks. He crafted a new chest and stored the food away. As he moved, he contemplated making a crock pot. If they could find a less wooded area, he could make the supplies for some _real_ food…

He glanced up toward the sun. “He should be back by now,” he murmured to himself. He sighed and threw together a torch. And, after a moment's thought, a second. 

He didn’t have to travel far. He could hear pickaxes chipping away at boulders. Sure enough, he saw Maxwell’s lanky shape only a few lengths away. 

“Hey!” He called after him. A chill ran down his spine. The cooling twilight? He jogged to his companion.

Maxwell flinched as he approached. He looked at him with wild eyes. His hands, holding the Codex, tremmored.

“Go away, Higgsbury. It’s not safe,” Maxwell said.

Wilson felt for his spear with one hand. He started to sweat. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“They’re coming after me,” Maxwell explained. “I can hear them. They’re plotting. They’re going to kill me. They’re sick of me and They’re going to kill me.”

“Hey…” Wilson slowly stepped closer. “Why don’t you close the book?”

“But they’ll protect us,” Maxwell said.

Wilson looked to where the sounds originated. Barely visible in the dusk, a group of shadow puppets labored in the rocklands. Scattered ore surrounded them for yards. 

“They’re tired,” Wilson suggested. “Let them rest. Then they’ll protect us better.”

“Okay… okay.” Maxwell nodded. A bead of sweat fell from his forehead and bounced off the hydrophobic paper. He nervously glanced between the book and the puppets. He flipped a few pages over. From the book, he read a string of gibberish. The puppets paused. Their translucent pickaxes disappeared. They leaned down and gathered the stones. Silently, they returned to their master. Wilson froze as they were surrounded by four Maxwell clones. One by one, they were pulled into the book, leaving behind a pile of ore.

Wilson lit a torch. Four piles surrounded them. He looked to Maxwell; his breathing seemed a fraction calmer.

“Let’s get this back to camp, okay? We’ll make some stone walls. They’ll keep us safe.”

“Okay.” Maxwell glanced over his shoulder. He gingerly leaned down to help Wilson collect their harvest. His eyes still darted back and forth as they made their way back to the distant fire. Wilson’s hand inched back and forth toward him, ready to grasp him if he darted. With every step, it seemed, Maxwell’s head grew more level. His eyes cleared, and he cleared his throat as if he could scare away the humiliation. 

By the time they reached safety, the sweat had dried from their brows. Maxwell sat on a stump next to the fire and massaged his temples. 

“Are you… okay?” Wilson asked him.

“I am now,” Maxwell sighed. “Using that book… isn’t good for me.”

“No shit,” Wilson said.

“It pulls my psyche closer to the world of the darkness. I become more aware of Them. I can always sense Their presence, but… It’s like a megaphone.”

“Maybe you should stop.”

“I’ve tried,” Maxwell snapped. “I just need to use it in moderation. Yes. No more mass collections. Only one puppet at a time. Well, maybe two. We’ll see.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow at him.

“None of this is hurting you, Higgsbury. I have it under control.”

“You better.” Wilson tossed something at him. Maxwell’s hands fumbled over it and barely saved it from the dirt. A green mushroom, still warm from the fire. He turned it over in his hands and brushed it off. 

“Thank you for helping me out of that,” Maxwell said, his eyes ducking down under Wilson’s gaze. As he ate the mushroom cap, Wilson watched his trembling slowly fade.

“I already miss paranoid you,” Wilson responded.

“Bite me.”

“There you are,” Wilson smirked.

“I hope you have a use for all those stones.”

“Oh, do I.” Wilson rubbed his hands together. “Tomorrow, I’ll make a new machine. The Alchemy Engine. Then, we’ll be able to make enough stone walls to build a fortress. We’ll be unstoppable.”

“You’re starting to sound like me,” Maxwell smiled.

Wilson stopped. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Furrowed his brow. 

“Well… ish kabibble!”

An ugly sound escaped Maxwell’s nose as he let out a laugh. “You’re okay, Higgsury. You’re okay.”

“You’ll thank me when you’re not dead,” Wilson sneered.

“Yeah, yeah, I will.”

“Take a look at this.” Wilson spun his food chest around and revealed its contents. He admired his own piles of food; he looked up to Maxwell with a smirk on his face.

“Wh — _why_ do you have a live rabbit in here?” Maxwell asked, horrified.

“It’s to have _some_ fresh food on hand,” Wilson protested.

“The poor thing!” Maxwell nestled a hogtied rabbit into his arms. It wriggled in his grasp, screeching all the while.

“You’re going to let him escape!”

“I’ve dealt with many a wily rabbit in my day.” He set the rabbit carefully next to himself. He fished wooden planks from a chest and started to craft a fence.

“Oh, come on.”

“You come on.” Maxwell deftly fenced in a small square in his camp, pressing the planks through the sod. He took a rope and rudimentarily tied the boards together. With a swift tug, he grinned at his handiwork. He plopped the rabbit in the middle, and, with much protest, untied his paws. The creature screamed and lapped the fence. It quickly tired itself out, panting, but relatively calm.

“I’ll call you Harris III,” Maxwell cooed.

“What happened to the first two?” Wilson asked.

“Ah, I don’t like to talk about it.” He took a carrot and waved it in front of Harris III’s face. “It was the train crash.”

“What — excuse me? The train crash?”

“On my way to visit my brother, I was involved in a train crash.”

“Involved?” Wilson questioned.

“I was _on_ the train,” Maxwell stated. Harris III started to gnaw on the carrot, which he held diligently. “There was a circus wagon broken down on the tracks. Middle of the Nevada wilderness. No fatalities, thankfully. Besides Harris Jr., I presume. I lost poor Senior to the snuffles.” 

“Presume?”

“Well, no one ever found him. It was in the middle of the desert, Higgsbury.”

“I know that.”

“I was a miracle _I_ survived.”

“You… mean the crash, or the desert?”

“Well, both, technically speaking.”

“You got lost in the desert with your rabbit.”

“Yes.”

“Would… you like to elaborate on that?”

“I would, but I really can’t tell you much more.”

“No?”

“I don’t remember any of it.”

“You don’t _remember_?”

Maxwell sighed. He dropped the half-eaten carrot and stretched his arms.

“No, Higgsbury, I do not remember what happened. All I remember is the initial crash, and then I woke up in a hospital. They told me I was found half dead in the middle of the desert by some good samaritans. I was also clutching a book which I did not have with me at the time of the crash.”

“A… book?”

“This book.” Maxwell held up his Codex. “No one had any idea what it was, least of all myself. It turned out to be the most influential day of my life.”

“You, you… Am I getting this right?” Wilson shook his head. “You just… got lost in the desert… and found an evil book? The book which ruined all of our lives?”

“Essentially.” 

Wilson stared at him, flabbergasted.

“Of course, at this time, I was running from my debts in New York,” Maxwell continued. “I was desperate. I was hoping to stay with my brother until I could get back on my feet. Lots of opportunities in California, he told me. I hoped my act would be more successful there, but deep down, I knew it wouldn’t be. Figured I’d end up with some sort of factory job. I was praying to every force out there for a second chance.” He shrugged. “And I got one.”

“Your magic show?” Wilson asked. “You used _that_ for a magic show?”

“It was extremely successful!” Maxwell grinned. “That was the best time of my life. Tickets sold like hotcakes.” His smile fell. “I realize now there was no talent involved. I sold my soul for my fifteen minutes of fame. And, well, Charlie was a casualty. She didn’t even know.”

“Know?”

“She thought it was an illusion, like everyone else. I didn’t want to scare her away. I think she would’ve figured it out if we wouldn’t have… ended up here.” 

“So, what I’m getting, is that the book you have there is behind… all of this,” Wilson gestured his hands vaguely above him.

“You’re quite the scientist,” Maxwell said.

“You don’t have to patronize me.”

“At any rate. I believe They recognized my potential and abducted me to sit on Their throne. You know the rest.”

“Yes, I do. You decided to drag me in here with you,” Wilson snapped.

“Well, that’s enough for tonight. You’re first watch.” Maxwell stood from his stump and wandered toward their chest of bed rolls.

“You’re going to bed? Now?” Wilson asked.

“I’m tired. Goodnight, Higgsbury. Goodnight, Harris.” He tossed the roll on the ground. He situated the Codex under another layer of grass as a pillow of sorts. With an especially deep sigh, he slipped in between the covers.

“Coward,” Wilson muttered.

“And, Higgsbury?” Maxwell voiced.

“What?”

“If that rabbit isn’t there when I wake up, I _will_ kill you.”

Wilson impaled a morsel of meat on a stick. He leered at Harris with every turn over the fire. Every nibble was savored. 

* * *

Someone knocked on the door. Maxwell jumped awake. He nearly tore a page which had stuck to his cheek. The book followed, crashing down and startling him again.

He rubbed at the creased paper. When had he fallen asleep? Another knock took his focus. “Maxwell?” he heard from the other side of the door.

Charlie. What day was it? He ducked under the mouth of the fireplace and repositioned the candle above. The door to his study securely shut behind him. He tapped the candle one more time and nodded to himself. 

He pulled open the door, and sure enough, Charlie looked up at him with big eyes. She giggled.

“What?” Maxwell asked.

“I’ve never seen you with glasses before,” Charlie said. “You look so… studious.”

Maxwell felt blush rise to his cheeks. He was still wearing his glasses? He pulled them off and shoved them in his pocket.

“I’m far-sighted. I need them to read,” he explained.

“I didn’t say they looked bad!” Charlie tilted her head. “What were you reading?”

“Oh, I was just… studying new potential acts for the show.” He glanced back at his apartment. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m just checking in on you,” Charlie smiled. “You always seem to be busy at work.”

“It’s a living.”

“Do you ever take a break?”

“Well… I…”

“Don’t you have any hobbies?”

“Not… lately.”

Charlie nodded. “That’s what I thought. It’s not good for you.”

“I suppose not.”

“I have a proposition for you, The Amazing Maxwell.”

“What’s that, Charlie?”

“You should come dancing with me.”

“Dancing?”

“Yeah, you know. Socialize. Have a little fun.”

Maxwell rubbed the back of his neck. “Charlie, I don’t think it would be appropriate to take out my business partner.”

“Oh, no, this wouldn’t be a date!” Charlie laughed a little, her own face growing red. “We wouldn’t go as Maxwell and Charlie, we’d just go as a couple of friends.”

“Just… as friends?”

“A couple chuckaboos!” 

Maxwell sighed. Charlie’s expectant face beamed up at him. Had he ever been able to say no to that smile?

“I suppose I could come for a little bit,” Maxwell conceded. 

“Wonderful!” Charlie chirped. “I’ll wait for you to get changed.”

“In that case…” Maxwell took a step back. “Why don’t you wait inside?”

“I think I will.” Charlie gave him a small bow as he gestured her into the apartment. She sauntered over to the nearest chair. Her smile lingered on her face; she sat up straight with anticipation, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Maxwell kept an eye on her until he disappeared into his room. He went to his mirror and gave himself an incredulous look. Eyebrows still raised, he burrowed into his closet. When he eventually emerged, we wore his tailor-made performance suit.

“Oh, no no no.” Charlie laughed. “I thought you wanted to _not_ go as Maxwell and Charlie. Do you have anything more… conservative?”

“Conservative?” Maxwell started to sweat. When he arrived in California, he could only afford the one. “I’ll… see what I can find.” 

In the very back of his closet, under a dust cover, hung his old costume. To call it a costume would be kind; it was a plain, black suit with a pinstripe vest. He grimaced at it. He threw the vest aside, along with the cravat. Simple never went out of style, he’d heard.

When he returned, he was greeted with an approving smile.

“Perfect! Well, a bit plain, but it’ll work.” She stood and straightened her trench coat. “Ready?”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll give you the answer when we get there,” Charlie winked.

* * *

Their carriage stopped beside a building sporting a sign which read “The Answer.”

“Ah. I see,” Maxwell observed.

“Get it?” Charlie giggled. “Come on. The night’s young.”

Maxwell regained his focus just quickly enough to catch the door for her. She gave him a curtsy as she passed through. He followed and was immediately caught up in the overbearing atmosphere.

He was used to crowds. Crowds on the boat, crowds in New York, crowds in his audiences. There was something different about this crowd. It blurred the line between invisibility and the show. Everyone gave him passing looks. He felt the instant judgement in their eyes. Whether good or bad — he had no worldly clue.

“Well, are you coming?” Charlie asked.

“Um.” Maxwell watched nimble feet drift across the floor. Dance lessons were so, so many years ago. The waltzes he watched were nothing like the dances he was taught as a child. He started to sweat.

“I’ll study this new dance before I join in,” he concluded. “Go ahead.”

“You sure?”

“Have fun. I’ll find you.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting.” Charlie smiled and joined the crowd.

She disappeared immediately. By the time Maxwell found a chair against the wall, she was long gone. Bodies littered the dance floor in a cyclone of intoxication. Charlie was but one color in the spectrum. He rubbed the back of his neck. His hand came back wet.

The more he looked, the more he noticed small oddities. Women, sitting side by side, clasped hands. Partners seemed not to be paired off by gender — not to mention, they traded off now and then. The glints of monocles caught his eye, and most were worn by women. He stared, unaware of himself, until movement caught his eye.

“Excuse me,” came a voice. Maxwell looked up. A man his age with wispy blond hair beamed at him. “Are you here with someone?”

“Yes, but, I, um…” Maxwell shook his head. “I’ll be honest with you. I have no idea what I’m doing here.” 

“I think we all felt that way our first time,” the man said. “Do you know the dance?”

“It seems simple enough. However…”

“Why don’t I show you?” He smiled. Maxwell’s heart skipped a beat. Something in his smile, his genuine smile, touched him as something different. It was a type of kindness he was not often used to.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask such a favor of a stranger…”

“Come on. You’re right, it’s simple enough.” The man reached out his hand. “I’ll let you be the man. I don’t mind.”

Maxwell stared at his offering and took hold of his grasp. Immediately, he realized how clammy his hands were. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words failed him. 

“This one’s called the Turkey Trot,” the man explained. “Follow my steps.”

He lifted the hand which held Maxwell’s, and his other rested on his shoulder. Maxwell followed suit. The man cleared his throat, and then he took a step. He seamlessly moved backward, and Maxwell matched his pace. 

“Okay, big step now.” The man leaned back with his next step. Their arms stretched as Maxwell lingered uselessly — with the next beat, the man came just as close. This time, Maxwell leaned with him as he tilted back. He caught a whiff of his cologne. It was suddenly difficult to breathe.

“Three of those. Got it?”

Maxwell nodded.

“Now, this is the fun part. We both do something like this.” He hopped up on one foot, and bounced to the other one. He rocked back and forth like a pendulum. 

Maxwell snickered. “Really?”

“Come on now, don’t leave me hanging.”

“Okay, okay.” Maxwell bobbed his knees as he fell back into rhythm. He kicked up his feet and joined the trot.

“There you go!” the man said.

Maxwell laughed aloud. His pride ached, but his heart leapt. His adrenaline burned, leaving clean energy in its wake. 

“This is fun,” Maxwell admitted.

“It is!” he smiled. “You’re doing great. One more step, alright?”

“Alright.” His eyes darted between their feet and the man’s face. As he met his gaze, the man gave him another one of his kind smiles. A shiver ran through his nerves. He let out another laugh, nervously. 

“It’s easier this time. You just cross your feet…” he began to demonstrate, “and pose,” he bowed. “Do that three times, and we go back to the regular steps.” 

“Just like…” Maxwell stepped with him.

“Just like that.”

“Simple.”

“You’re a natural.” The man lowered his hands, but he left one interlaced with his fingers for a moment longer. “I should leave you to your companion.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Don’t want to leave her waiting. I can’t thank you enough for your help today.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say in a place like this.” The man gave him a quick wink. Maxwell tensed, his eyes darting to the floor.

“I didn’t catch your name—” By the time he looked up, the man had disappeared into the crowd. He watched couples mingle for a moment. Then, a familiar red rose caught his eye. Charlie was just parting from a dance partner; she slipped out of the dance floor. 

He smiled. Now was his chance. He came close enough to catch her perfume, and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Charlie?” 

“No, you cake-eater.” 

Maxwell’s eyes flew open. Charlie, and any notion of the Answer, was gone. Across from the campfire, a scruffy Wilson nibbled on a handful of roasted berries.

“Oh, it was… just a dream.”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Wilson shook his head.

“What are you implying?” Maxwell squinted.

“Nothing at all.” Wilson gestured toward the fenced-off area. “I got your pet some breakfast. You’re on your own.” 

Maxwell kicked his way out of his roll and shuffled over to the rabbit. Harris munched on a bundle of grass. He reached out to pet him. Reluctantly, Harris froze in place as he stroked his thin summer coat. Yes, it was all real. The thought escaped him through a sigh.

“I almost forgot,” he said.

“You’re telling me,” Wilson responded.

He stood up straight to scan the world around him. The camp was surrounded by short, stone walls. A few wooden gates separated them from the outside world. A new, orblike machine stood precariously on three legs. 

“You did… all this?” Maxwell asked.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you slept through it all.”

“As am I.” Maxwell stroked the smooth face of a wall. “This is… impressive, Higgsbury.”

“I told you, I could make a fortress.”

“Is that your Alchemy Machine?”

“Alchemy Engine, yes.” 

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

Wilson looked at him with baggy eyes. “I was busy.”

“Not doing a lot of good for our chances.” Maxwell shook his head. “You should rest for today. What do we still need for provisions?”

“Well…” Wilson mulled it over. He peeked in the nearest chest. “We have a good stockpile of everything but logs, I think. For now.”

“Then I'll play lumberjack today.”

“You… sure?” Wilson squinted at him.

“It's only fair.” Maxwell picked up his Codex. “And, as not to repeat yesterday's… quantry, I'll leave this here.”

“You're going to trust me with your special book?”

“A self-respecting scientist such as yourself should have no interest in magic. Besides — I doubt you could figure it out. Not in a day, anyhow.”

Wilson tried to read his face. A challenge? Or perhaps a warning? The showman had an excellent façade.

“Fine. I'll keep an eye on Harris III for you.”

“That would be very much appreciated.” Maxwell rummaged through a chest to retrieve a sharp axe. He ran the tip of his finger along the edge before sticking it in his mouth. With a pop, his finger was cleaned of any runaway blood. "I'll be back before sunset. And if I'm not, don't try to play in the dark."

"I've been at this much longer than you have, you know."

"Rest up, Higgsbury." 

Maxwell rarely had a proper opportunity to appreciate his creations. Under punitive pressure for the last dozen odd years, he was only tasked with more and more. He was proud, at first. Creative expression gave way to survival quicker than he ever anticipated. 

It was not quite the world he had left behind. Not that he remembered much at all — but the air didn’t feel quite as crisp, the water not quite as sweet. He could never replicate how God painted the sunset, or how frost decorated the leaves. Still, oxygen filled his lungs. His artificial sun warmed his skin. It was more than he could ever ask for. 

He breathed in the smells of the forest. Pine trees. One of the first things.

“Hello, old friend,” Maxwell greeted one tree. He peeled a glove from one hand and pressed the palm against the bark. The wood dug into raw skin. He ran his hand down the length of it. It dawned on him he had never physically touched the living lungs of his world.

He pulled the tattered glove back on. He hefted the axe into place. It chipped the bark, only to bounce out and slip out of his hands. When was the last time he had done manual labor? He couldn’t remember.

Another try. He bounced the axe in his hands to get a feel of its weight. Gripped the handle, and then tighter. A few practice swings swung him around with his own momentum. 

“Okay, Max.” He took a deep breath. With this swing, the axe lodged itself into the tree with a hearty _thwack_. He smiled. With another swing, he hit right above the first cut. One after another, he chopped away at the pine. 

The tree cracked under its own weight. Maxwell jumped and skittered backwards. It leaned forward, propelled by its own weight. It crashed, defeated, beside his feet.

“Bravo,” Maxwell said.

He went to work separating logs from the mass. He picked the occasional pine cone which littered the ground. His subconscious assumed the rustling behind him had to be the sound of his own branches.

That was, until he was swept off his feet. It was a second after his brain registered the low growling; still a second too late. His body crashed against the ground. He scrambled to his feet. He ran. He put a few yards between himself and his attacker before he stopped to look.

A treeguard. About a medium one, if he had to guess. The creature towered over even him. Its voiden eyes stared at him with loathing. 

Adrenaline dented the pain. It didn’t stop him from reeling over as his empty stomach rebelled against him. He was suddenly very, very glad he skipped breakfast.

“Disgusting beast,” he spat, and wiped his face on his sleeve. 

What was the trick he’d seen Higgsbury perform? Pinecones. He had one in his pocket; he dropped the other in the scuffle. He dug in the ground with clawed fingers and buried the thing. The treeguard looked down on it, a hint of its malice softening. Not enough. It lumbered toward him, shaking the ground with every step.

“Dammit.”

He couldn’t take another hit like that. The codex sat safely in Wilson’s lap, he assumed. He pulled on his night armor and drew his dark sword. The familiar draw of Them tugged at his mind. He could ignore it, for now. The growling alone was enough to drag his focus.

“At least I can make sure you don’t get Higgsbury,” he murmured.

He rounded the guard, and waited for it to chase. With every pounding step, Maxwell moved backwards. Slowly, they moved away from the camp. Slowly, he felt sweat roll on his neck. He could keep this up for as long as it took.

The growling grew louder. With a tremble down his spine, Maxwell realized it wasn’t coming from the tree. Hounds broke forth from the trees behind him. Before he could process the brown streaks in his peripherals, they leapt at the guard. Snarls came from sharp maws as they dug into the bark. Entire branches were ripped away. The treeguard bellowed, its arms swinging in a panic. One hound was tossed away, only to return just as quick. Maxwell watched in horror as the treeguard was quite literally torn limb from limb. The faint, shrill screams of living wood grew as the onslaught ended. The hounds, growls still echoing from their throats, turned to him. 

“Good dogs,” Maxwell rasped. “Good, good dogs.”

The hounds snarled. One of them barked. Its fangs glistened in the sun. 

“It’s me, Maxy. You remember me, don’t you? My little cubs.”

The growling stopped. The hounds looked around and sniffed the air. One of them snorted at the others. With one last look at their former master, the dogs ran off.

Maxwell felt the aching of his ribs with every rapid breath. Sweet endorphins were leaving him. His hands violently trembled as he returned his sword to his pack. 

“Maxwell!” His head snapped toward the voice. Higgsbury. “Maxwell, are you okay?” 

Wilson sprinted through the trees from which the hounds emerged. He labored against the weight of a log suit, a spear in hand. 

“I heard the hounds, and I…” His voice trailed off as he looked around the clearing. Moaning wood and monster meat littered the ground. Only one free tooth remained of the pack. The color left his face. “What in… God’s good name...?” 

“I believe I’m about to lose consciousness,” Maxwell said. He fell to his knees.

In an instant, Wilson was there beside him. His face was inches from the dirt; only his arms, tucked under himself, kept him from breaking his nose. Unsure hands held his sides. His head spun.

“Can you get up?” asked a distant voice. 

“I think…” He pushed against the ground. His joints locked themselves into place. Static washed over his vision. Wilson held him with one arm, and Maxwell leaned into his companion. 

The trek back was slow and steady. By the time they reached camp, the day was nearly done. Maxwell squinted against the blaring sun. Wilson helped him down gently onto his bed roll.

“I think I broke a rib,” Maxwell breathed.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Wilson looked at the shadows wrapped around him. “Do you want me to…?”

Maxwell reached up and tore them from his torso. It came off like silk. He tossed it aside, and his hand went to his chest.

“I have some medical knowledge,” Wilson told him. “I can take a look.”

“Do what you will, but I’m not taking off this suit.”

“Uh, alright…” Wilson hovered his hand near his chest. “I’m just going to palpate and make sure it’s not going to damage your organs.”

“Fine, fine, go on.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I’m a grown man, Higgsbury. I can handle it.” Maxwell relaxed his hand.

“Right there?”

“Yeah.”

Wilson touched the spot he’d cradled, gently at first. Skin and bones, Wilson could feel his ribs even under his vest. He pressed his hand in around the area. Suppressed groans came from his patient. He couldn’t seem to feel much beside the bone and some edema. He pressed harder. Maxwell gave out a cry, a tear escaping from the corner of his eye. 

“This would be easier if you shed some layers,” Wilson said.

“Just get on with it!” Maxwell snarled.

Briefly taken aback, Wilson gave it one last feel. 

“It’s not broken. Only fractured. You’ll be alright. It’ll heal on its own. It’s just going to hurt for a while.”

“How long?”

“I’d guess six weeks, give or take.”

“Wonderful. Just wonderful.”

“I was lucky enough to get some butter today. It’ll help.” Wilson stood and started to turn.

“Higgsbury, wait. Listen to me.”

“What is it?” 

“I’m going to tell you how to leave this place.”

“You’re — you’re going to _what?”_ Wilson gaped. “Are you telling me you knew how to leave this _entire time?”_

“Had to give people a reason to hope, didn’t I?”

“Give yourself a reason to hope I don’t kick that rib in right now.”

“You already know what it is, if you really do have a brain between your ears.”

Wilson paused. “The Things?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“The objects which you made me collect to get to the next world. Those Things. I noticed they were slightly different than the ones outside the door.”

“You’ve found some?”

“I had three at them at my camp, I think.”

“Then we must find your camp.”

“Nothing would make me happier. Would it — would it really? I mean, you’re being serious, right? You’re not just dragging me along for laughs, are you?”

“Higgsbury, right now, I am entirely at your mercy. Do you think I’m dim enough to mess with you?”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Because I don’t know if I’ll have another chance.”

“Oh, please, like you’re going anywhere.”

“Do you really think I had any chance against that treeguard? I took one hit and I was out. The hound took care of the beast for me.”

Wilson grimaced. “Well, I… Wow. They do pack quite the punch, but… one hit?”

“I’m not the most sturdy partner. I’ll be the first to admit it. I don’t know if I can even survive in a world of my own creation. And it only gets harder. You know this.”

“You still have the book,” Wilson offered.

“Damn the book. If I weren’t of sound mind, I’d throw it in the fire myself.” He sighed, and then winced. “It’ll have to do.” 


	3. Part 3

The next day, they packed.

They spent most of the time debating what best to put into a temporary camp. How much food, how much firewood, if an  _ entire  _ science machine was really necessary, Higgsbury? They had to postpone the expedition for the next day; by then, they were ready.

Wilson threw the last supplies into a piggyback: leftovers from breakfast and their sleeping rolls. The pack bloated under the weight of their shared supplies. 

“Let me carry it, Higgsbury,” Maxwell offered.

“You’re injured. Don’t take any wooden nickels.”

“I feel fine.”

“You’re our first line of defense, with your fancy book. We’re even.”

“Wait. I have an idea.” 

Maxwell pulled out his fancy book. He flipped to a page; they seemed to propel themselves to the article he looked for. He pinned the page with a finger, and he read in a language Wilson did not recognize. A shadow slithered from the book; before Maxwell, a puppet materialized. 

“Give it to him.”

Wilson squinted at him. He ran his thumbs along the straps. The translucent puppet approached him and waited patiently for the bag. Wilson scoffed, and pulled it from his back. The puppet took it and swung it around his own shoulders.

“I’ll be damned,” Wilson said. “Well, let’s blouse.”

They set out in an arbitrary direction. Maxwell complained — something about how a few gears would make things easier — but Wilson’s eyes were bright. Insects wove their way around the labyrinth of trees. A gobbler zigzagged around a forest of berry bushes. To one end, the muddy pit of the walruses lay.

"You made all of this, didn't you?" Wilson asked.

"Most all of this, yes," Maxwell nodded.

"Even the spiders and the pigs and the hounds?"

"Everything on the surface."

"Right, the caverns. You… didn't do that? Who did?"

"There was life here long before I ever came here."

"Was there someone else on the throne?" Wilson asked.

"I don't believe so. I suspect They grew bored of the ancient peoples, and They looked for a new plaything. So They made the throne and primed the trap."

"So you made all this to…. entertain them?" 

"Essentially. The world They were used to was much different than ours. It was quite easy to throw in a new animal here or a new plant there. It must've bought me a few years."

"Before you started dragging people in here."

Maxwell stared at his feet. “Careful, Higgsbury. There are ponds nearby. Better keep your eyes peeled.”

“I know.”

“Just warning you.”

They spent the rest of their trek in silence. The sun watched them, seemingly directionless. Even against its blinding eye, they scanned the horizon. They were careful to avoid the other’s eye.

"Oh, luck's our lady tonight,” Maxwell suddenly said. “Look there.” He pointed toward structures in the distance. 

"What? I don't see anything." Wilson squinted.

"The stone walls? Surely you see them."

"No dice."

"Well, I am far sighted."

"Don't call me Shirley. Oh, wait — I think I see them now." Gray blurs of stone walls focused in his vision. "I feel like I've seen that before." 

"That's where the box should be."

"Yeah, that's right. The Box Thing."

"Very scientific of you," Maxwell deadpanned.

"Thank you," Wilson replied with just as much sarcasm. 

With new energy, they approached the weathered walls. They both felt eyes drill into the back of their heads as they passed into the clearing. Wilson had an ominous case of déjà vu. He had been here before.

Maxwell made it to the box first. He picked it up and dusted off the top. He examined it closely from every angle.

“Looks good as new,” he concluded, and placed it in his own pocket.

“Great.” Wilson poked the gnome in the corner. "Why did you make evil flowers?" he asked.

“Aren't they neat?” Maxwell leaned down and smiled at one.

"No. How — why would a flower be evil? It's a flower."

"Beauty adheres to no moral compass."

"Oh my god, you're so pretentious.”

"You're one to talk."

"Listen. I already found this. Why is it here?"

“Ah, well, I thought you would have figured it out yourself a while ago.”

“And?” Wilson raised an eyebrow.

“The world regenerated, quite simply. Should we set up a camp nearby? It’s getting late.”

“Wait, wait. The world  _ what?” _

“Come on, we have little daylight left to burn. I’ll explain around a fire.”

Wilson sneered at Maxwell, although he had already turned to leave. Frowning, he looked at the gnome, snatched it, and followed him out of the structure.

“How about here?” Maxwell asked. “Far enough away from the flowers and the frogs, I believe.”

“Fine, sure.” Wilson dumped his supplies on the ground.

“There’s no need to throw a fit. Why don’t we have a meal?”

“I don’t know what you’re so chipper about.”

“Well, we found the first piece to getting out of here, for one.”

“But my old camp is gone, and I have a bad feeling about why.”

“Sit, Higgsbury.” Maxwell went to work on a campfire. “Let me explain.”

“I’m listening.”

“Actually, let me start with a question. Do you think you’re the only survivor here?”

“I’ve seen the skeletons,” Wilson frowned.

“What about other living ones? Other people trying not to starve, just like the two of us?”

“I mean… I’ve never seen another one. Now that I think about it, you’re the only other person I’ve seen since I’ve been here. Pigs notwithstanding.”

“That’s not by accident,” Maxwell explained. “This world is small. I suspect you’ve explored a large enough expanse of your first manifestation to realize this. This works because there is not only one. There are multiple, maybe, damfino, a few dozen? They cycle with the people who inhibit them. After so many deaths, the entire world regenerates. Makes it easier for the next one.”

“How many people, exactly, have you trapped here?” Wilson asked, a hint of apprehension in his voice.

“I’ve lost count over the years. I think there are about twenty others still alive. When I was last on the throne, at least.”

Wilson stared at him with hollow eyes. “You’re really a monster, aren’t you?”

“That I am.” Maxwell passed him a handful of morsels. “Here, eat.”

* * *

The next morning, Wilson found himself staring at the frogs.

“Higgsbury, you know those things are dangerous, don’t you?”

“I know.” He didn’t move. “It’s a shame. I’ve always loved frogs.”

“I’d hate to hear how many you’ve dissected.”

“When I was a little kid, I thought they were the coolest things in the world. They weren’t anything like dogs or insects or fish. They seemed like an entirely unique creature. And when I learned they lived on both land and water? I became obsessed.”

Wilson’s memory was as vivid as his dreams.

Suddenly, he was a child again, in the world of his birth. It was a cool spring afternoon. The smell of rain still permeated the air. Hours of staying indoors stiffened his spirit along with his knees. Finally — time to play.

The petricore was a pheromone. With one whiff, he could not be coaxed inside again. Dew coated his socks and splattered his bare calves. 

To the bushes. He scanned the leaves diligently. He spotted the object of his desire: a snail. He held a finger in front of its path. It took a few tires, but with enough persistence, the snail climbed onto his hand. He didn’t dare touch it; he had learned of their fragility the hard way. He smiled as it tickled his fine skin. 

His eyes caught motion. Beneath the hedgeline, a creature hopped. He gasped — a toad! He looked between it and the snail, which had made its way to the back of his hand. He held the snail up to a leaf, impatiently waiting for its departure. With no success, he finally pushed it off, perhaps a little too roughly, onto the leaf.

The toad was still there. It seemed indifferent to him. He kneeled down closer to it, and it looked at him with bulging eyes.

“Com’ere, little fella.” He reached to gasp it. It just fit in his small hand, but quickly wiggled out.

“Wait! I’m not going to eat you.” Wilson scampered after it and took it, with two hands this time. Even against his slippery skin (which, he wasn’t sure whether it was the rain or its infamous deterrent), he held fast with two hands. Then, movement caught his eye again.

“Oh, you have a friend!” He approached a second toad. After a moment of contemplation, he maneuvered the first toad into his pocket. “Don’t worry. I’ll get your friend, too.” With acquired skill, he snatched the second surely. The toad joined their friend in his pocket. 

Richer than monarchs past, Wilson scoured the yard for more playmates. The sun began to peak its head from behind the clouds. Animals stirred from their shelters. He wiped his muddy hands on his front and primed them to catch.

Behind him, a screen door creaked open.

“██████!” called a voice. “██████, time to come in!”

He turned towards the speaker. Mother.

“Oh, ██████, what did you do to your new dress!” She hiked up her own dress and hurried into the yard. “Look at you! You’re filthy! You’re going to need another bath.” She took Wilson by the shoulders and inspected him close. “How did you get so dirty?” As she leaned in, a frog leapt from his pocket. She screamed. 

“It’ll give you some protein to eat besides rabbit,” Wilson said to Maxwell. He set out with a trap and his thoughts.

* * *

That night, they feasted on frog legs.

Wilson allowed Maxwell to have the first rest; by the setting of the sun, the glassy look in his eyes worried him. One puppet didn’t seem to drain him too much, but, Wilson knew how the night got to him.

Besides, he couldn’t sleep. 

He stared into the empty darkness. No matter the moon above, its light could never seem to penetrate it. It was nearly full. He frowned.

“Couldn’t even get the moon right,” he muttered. “Have they never looked at its face?”

“We did our best,” a voice whispered in his ear.

Wilson jumped. He flipped around to look at Maxwell. He laid still.

“He’s asleep. I checked.”

The gentle voice sent a shiver down his spine. It seemed familiar. An American accent, soothing in its alto tone. 

“Charlie?” he whispered.

“That’s me,” the voice laughed. “Don’t worry. I have no quarrel with you.”

“But after you freed me—”

“That’s complicated.” A hint of annoyance. “Sit back down, dear. It’s alright.”

The campfire still burned bright. Maxwell failed to stir, and his chest still rose and fell with his breath. With an equal mixture of fear and curiosity, Wilson looked back into the abyss.

“I’m in control now. More or less.”

The voice came beside him, now. He turned his head only to jump again. There was a woman he did not recognize. Her face was not framed by shadows, as the one he had met before. Her short hair fell in waves, not a lock out of place. Her dress seemed avant-garde for its time; black covered her bare limbs. He was close enough to smell the single rose resting on her ear. 

“What do you want?” Wilson murmured.

“Your thoughts. I know Maxy isn’t the best conversationalist.”

“And you…?”

“I won’t lie to you. I’ve always been a bit of a gossip. But there’s no one else to tell.” She giggled. Her mouth grew into a smile — wide, yet genuine. 

“You must be awfully lonely,” Wilson observed.

“Well, yes. But They keep me company enough.”

“They?”

“This is your time, Wilson. If you’d be so kind, share some of it with me.”

Wilson looked at his hands. Calluses plowed ridges into his palms. His fingernails had been gnawed down nearly to the beds. Consequences of a life in the wild.

“Why is it once life seems to settle down into the way it's supposed to be, everything changes again? I was on my own — and I fought so hard to get there. Now I'm here."

"That's the funny thing about this place,” Charlie replied, “It's called the Constant. Nothing really changes. Sure, the dangers seem to grow every day. The seasons change. The hounds grow more restless. But really… it's all the same. A lot of people who end up here long for stability. And that's exactly what they get.”

“But I had it. I built my own house, started my own lab. I was in a bit of a funk, but what great mind doesn't once in a while?”

“You took ‘forbidden knowledge’ from a stranger, if I've heard correctly.”

“I was desperate.”

“They all were.”

“Were you?”

Charlie pulled out some of the grass beneath her. She cupped it in her hand. With the other, she spun a single blade between her fingers.

“I think we’re the same in a lot of ways, Wilson,” she conceded. 

"I've been wondering this since I got back. Why did you free me from the throne? Why not Maxwell?"

"Because, dear. You were never meant to stay here."

The sun rose in its sudden, violent way. Charlie vanished before his eyes. He blinked, and rubbed at them; no sign of her remained.

Except, he swore, the smell of roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell : rabbits :: Wilson : frogs  
> Wilson can't have one as a pet though :(


	4. Part 4

“You need your sleep, too, Higgsbury,” Maxwell scolded. The two of them packed the rest of their things in the morning light. 

“It’s the middle of summer. There’s barely any night to speak of,” Wilson responded.

“Fine. I better not hear you complain.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Their trip home was quiet. They let the puppet walk between them. They could faintly see each other through its translucency, and that was enough. 

Wilson was ready to fall asleep on his feet by the time they returned to camp.

“Ah, home.” He breathed in the familiar air.

“I didn’t take you as the sentimental type,” Maxwell said.

“Oh, I can be.” Wilson reached in his backpack and pulled out the gnome. 

“Are you serious?” 

“I suspect it’s an artifact of the people who were here before you. Besides, it’s neat.”

“Higgsbury, it’s a lawn gnome.”

“Oh! Is that what it’s called? Noted.”

Maxwell raised an eyebrow as he watched Wilson position the gnome just right. He passed through the gate and went straight to the rabbit pen.

“Hello, Harris! Did you miss us?” He squatted down. “I brought a treat.” Harris stared at him. There remained a large stack of grass off to the side of the pen. Maxwell pulled a carrot out of his pocket. Harris’s nose nervously twitched at the smell of it. 

“He’s still a wild animal,” Wilson said. 

“Look. He’s learning.” Maxwell insisted. Harris slowly stepped forward; he reached out and took the carrot from his hand. “See?”

“How sweet,” Wilson deadpanned. “You’ve just conditioned him to associate you with food.”

“Is that what you’re trying to do to me, Higgsbury?”

Wilson didn’t laugh.

“I can tell you’re tired. You better go to sleep.”

“You’re not my father,” Wilson protested. 

“If you want to fall asleep on your watch and let us get killed, then by all means.”

Wilson shook his head. “Alright. Play with your bunny. Wake me up at midnight.”

“Goodnight, Higgsbury.” 

Wilson scoured their bags for a bed roll. Meanwhile, Maxwell dangled his fingers in the pen. Harris sniffed at them and nibbled. 

“My fingers aren’t carrots,” Maxwell murmured. He brushed them against the hare’s head. Harris flinched, but lingered under his touch. He scratched Harris’s soft head, and, as the stars peaked out their heads, his eyes slowly closed. 

Maxwell sat back against a stone wall. It was cold enough to keep him awake. He watched his pet drift in and out of the lull of sleep. He was close — but not too close — to the warm fire. He found himself watching that, too. Maybe that pyromaniac girl had some logic to her obsession, he thought. It was mesmerizing. Although, he thought, it was looking a little low.

The next thing he knew, he was plunged into darkness. 

“Maxy? What happened?” A voice asked. 

His eyes refused to focus. Vague shapes blurred around him. His ears, however, didn’t fail him. 

“Charlie?” he asked back. 

“Maxy.” He saw a blur as she approached him. With a sense of familiarity, he was finally able to perceive the world. Checkered tiles — no, this was not man made — rock formations stretched out around him. 

“Where are we?” Charlie asked. Her faint voice echoed in a seemingly endless room. There was no sky; only void above. Only the occasional boulder seemed to interrupt the landscape.

“I don’t… know. Are you okay?” Maxwell asked.

“I’m not hurt, I don’t think. Bruised.”

“Me too.”

“Is this… part of the show? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t—” Maxwell was cut off as swiftly as his vision. Everything went pitch dark; he couldn’t see his hand in front of his eyes.

“Max!” Charlie screamed. “Max, help me!” 

“Charlie? What’s happening?” Maxwell, trembling, searched himself for matches. There had to be a book. He had a smoke just before the show. It couldn’t have been lost. Here, in his jacket. He nearly dropped the thing, but managed to strike a match. 

The light gave way to hissing figures. The very shadows he had pulled from his codex again and again had Charlie in their grasp. They recoiled against the light, and yet, held tight. 

“Maxy!”

“I’m coming!” He rushed toward her. “They’re just puppets, Charlie! I got you!”

The monsters dragged her as quickly as he ran. They glided along the floor like ice. Charlie struggled. They ignored her.

“Max! I can’t get free!” Charlie yelled. 

“I’ll get you! I’ll get you!” He struggled to pull another match from the book. He dropped the first one just before he lit the second. Not fast enough. She was gone.

“Charlie!” he screamed into the night.

“Maxy!” came her voice, distant, strained.

“I’m coming, Charlie! Just hold on!”

Shapes could barely be seen in the distance. His hands worked in a cycle, now. Light, drop, hold. Light, drop, run. Light, drop…

He only had so many matches.

He didn’t stop running. He followed Charlie’s voice like her shadow. Blind, tired, aching.

And Charlie screamed.

“Charlie!” he cried. “Charlie, are you okay? Charlie, say something! Charlie! Charlie!”

No voice returned his call.

“Charlie! Dear Lord, please!” 

He tripped. He barely managed to thrust out his arms in time to catch himself. Pain shot up his arm. Sprained his wrist, at best. With his good hand, he propelled himself upward.

There was light, now. Black stone columns bared heads of flame. They lit a series of pillars, which surrounded one thing. 

A chair.

Something about it put a knot in Maxwell’s gut. It seemed simple: plain, black. The carpenter had some interesting design choices, he thought. And yet, something about it…

His legs ached. He didn’t know how long he had been running. If he could just rest for a moment, get his bearings.

The way the spines curled like the shoulders of his suit. The way the back reached his in height. It was almost as if…

Almost as if it was made for him.

Just to catch his breath.

Just for a moment. 

The moment he sat, he was filled with regret. It was stone cold. Tendrils of darkness lashed out. They grasped for his arms and legs. With one swift tug, his limbs were affixed to the chair.

 _“Maxwell, We’ve been waiting for you,”_ a voice whispered in his head.

_“Welcome, Maxwell.”_

_“You found your throne, Maxwell.”_

_“The Amazing Maxwell at last.”_

“Who are you?” Maxwell whispered.

_“We are your shadows.”_

_“The stars of your show.”_

_“The inhabitants of your mysterious tome.”_

“What did you do with Charlie?” he asked.

_“Charlie?”_

_“Oh, dear Charlie.”_

_“She’s one of Us now.”_

_“No need to worry.”_

“Let her go,” Maxwell growled.

_“Oh, you’re a funny one.”_

_“As if we would give up Our Queen.”_

_“Are you to stop Us?”_

“I will make you pay,” he said.

_“Preserve your energy, Maxwell.”_

_“We have a lot in store for you.”_

_“This isn’t even the beginning.”_

Maxwell pulled at his restraints. They had some give; it was just enough to jerk him back. He shook his head, whiplashed. He kicked his legs hysterically. 

_“Go ahead and try.”_

_“Get it out of your system.”_

_“You’ll tire out soon enough.”_

_“We’ll be waiting.”_

“Damn you,” he cursed.

_“Thank you.”_

He struggled to flex his arm close to his face. He bit at the tendrils. He cried out in pain — his teeth nearly shattered against it, and somehow, the shadow still stuck to his jaw. He spat furiously, and flailed uselessly. What little energy he had left quickly left his body. His suit was soaked, and his wrist throbbed. 

“Charlie…”

He didn’t realize how tired he was until the throne pulled back on his slumping head. He pulled away, again, to come to the same result. He swore. 

_“We warned you.”_

_“Wake up, Maxwell.”_

_“The Queen is coming.”_

“Queen?” Maxwell asked.

As he expected, there was no answer. The columns around him only lit so much; the void was overbearing. Shapes flickered in and out of his peripheral vision. The world itself seemed to stretch and spin. 

Once again, it all went black.

His eyes had adjusted, now. He could barely make out the pinstripes on his suit and the marble surfaces of the columns. Anything farther, nothing. But he could hear growling. A hiss, like steam, boiled with hatred. 

_“The Queen! The Queen!”_

“You…” a voice hissed.

“Charlie?” Maxwell asked. “Is… that you?”

“Maxwell…”

“I’m so relieved you’re alright. Where are you?”

A silhouette materialized at the edge of the darkness.

“I’m stuck here. I can’t move. Can you come closer, dear?”

The shape which approached him was not the Charlie he remembered. Her body was draped in shadows. Her hair flickered in time with the torches. It was Charlie’s face, for sure, but her scleras were pitch black. 

“What did they do to you?” Maxwell breathed.

“You… This was all you. It was your fault.”

“Charlie, I never meant—”

“You let yourself get caught up in your little games, Maxy. Now look at us.”

“I—”

“Don’t talk.” One hand grew into claws. Her arm extended, malleable in the dim light. Maxwell gripped the ends of his armrest. “You’ve killed me, Maxy.”

“Please—”

“Now I’m going to kill you.”

Her arm shot forward; her claws aimed at his eyes. He tried to shield his face. His arms held tight to the throne. He flinched away. Eyes closed, all he heard was a _clink_. 

Maxwell and Charlie looked at each other with an equal amount of confusion. Charlie snarled and lashed out at him again. He blinked. Her hand ricocheted off his face. She struck again. 

And again. And again. And again—

“Maxwell! Wake up.”

“What?”

“You fell asleep on your watch. The fire almost went out.” 

Maxwell blinked. It was so bright. Wilson’s concerned face stared down at him. 

“It sounded like you were having a nightmare,” Wilson continued.

“Ah, was I?” Maxwell asked. His head still swam with the haze of the throne. 

“You need psychotherapy,” Wilson said.

“No amount of therapy would help me, Higgsbury. When did the sun rise?” 

“Just a minute ago.”

“I need to see something.” Maxwell pushed himself off the wall. His face contorted, and he grasped at his chest. He stood on shaky legs.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Wilson warned. “You’re still injured.”

“I’m fine,” Maxwell spat. He hobbled to the codex, still stashed under his sleeping roll. He snatched it off the ground and fanned through the pages. 

“What exactly are you looking for?” Wilson probed.

“I’ll tell you when I find it.” 

“I don’t trust that book. Did you have some kind of premonition in your sleep?” Wilson peeked around his shoulder.

“Cut it out.” Maxwell waved him away. “They don’t care about me anymore. I’m old news.” He licked a finger to separate thin pages.

“Why do people do that? It’s disgusting.”

“Surely you know of capillary action, Professor.”

“Do you even know what that means?”

“Cork it. I’m trying to focus.” He folded his legs and leaned over the book pensively.

“S’pose Harris will thank me for breakfast, again.”

“If I tell you what I’m thinking, will you, for the love of God, leave me alone?”

“Plausibly.” 

“I never did completely interpret this book. I had my hands tied for a few years. It occurred to me this morning… there may be a way to free Charlie. The real Charlie.”

Wilson froze. He looked back to Maxwell. The man was absorbed in the book. His eyes traced unintelligible runes like his native tongue. The Codex Umbra. The Constant’s Bible. The mother of shadows. Disdain flooded Wilson’s veins. With one motion, he tore it from Maxwell’s hands. Page corners tore. Before he even knew why, Maxwell sprang to his feet.

“Higgsbury! You give that back!” he hissed.

Wilson pressed the book against the small of his back. Swiftly, he moved backwards. 

“If you have any idea of what is good for you, you _will_ give that back to me.” Maxwell glared down at him with the same eyes of his throne’s distorted image. Eyes filled with anger, desperation, and madness.

“The bank’s closed, Maxwell,” Wilson said, struggling to keep his voice level. “They locked the door and threw away the key. You need to stop obsessing over this! This world is filled with evil, and neither of you are going back to the people you used to be! You’re contaminated, Maxwell! In fact, you’re delirious! To think you could ever counter the, ‘Them,’ when you can barely survive to begin with! Charlie’s gone!” 

“Higgsbury, give me the book,” Maxwell commanded. 

“I’ll sooner throw it in the fire! Or tear it out page by page until it’s all scraps!” He laughed. “My only hope of getting out of here is raving mad, what a joke!”

“Higgsbury.” Maxwell let out a deep breath. “This is not about me. Or you. It is about an innocent woman. I’m contaminated? She’s strained to her soul. This is not — yearning, or courting, or lust, or whatever adjustive you’ve given it — it’s guilt. Have you considered that I can still feel guilt? Or am I too mad to have any sort of conscience?” 

“You know she’s too far gone,” Wilson said.

“And if I don’t try, I might as well have murdered her with my own hands.” He glanced at the fire. “Not that another body on my hands would make much of a difference, I suppose. But, I want to try. I want to try.” He raised an eyebrow. “If I were to do something selfless for once… maybe she really has a chance.”

“You think They will have pity on you?”

“I don’t think they’re capable of it. No — I think They would never see it coming.”

Wilson’s gut protested as he felt the weight of the Codex in his hands. Maxwell reached out one hand, patiently. Wilson’s eyes darted around his face. He did not blink. 

“Here,” Wilson finally said, thrusting the book toward Maxwell. Maxwell took it nonchalantly and flipped through it. 

“There we were,” Maxwell murmured as he stopped at one page. As he resumed his place, the book gradually hovered farther and farther away from him. Wilson watched with bated breath — and slowly deflated like an old balloon.

“Goodness, Maxwell, could you get that book any farther from your face? You really are farsighted.”

Maxwell barely realized the Codex was an arm’s length away from him. He sighed.

“I healed it while on the throne, but it seems as though it’s returned.”

“You can do that?” Wilson asked. “I guess it would revert itself after you disintegrated.”

“Disintegrated?” Maxwell looked up at him. “What are you bloody talking about?”

“You know… didn’t you… die? Or something?”

Maxwell shrugged. “Haven’t you died a good half a dozen times here, Higgsbury?”

Wilson mumbled something which Maxwell promptly dismissed.

“This seems more complicated than expected.”

“Did you find something?”

“A lead. A small one. But more than I was hoping for.” Maxwell thumbed the book open. “Look. Ah, well, you can’t read this. But it documents some events around the time of the writing of this book."

"Wait, what?" Wilson asked. "When was this?"

"I have no idea. Shall I get on with it?"

"I suppose." 

Maxwell cleared his throat. "Okay. To paraphrase… There was an elder in this society, whoever they may have been. He was apparently able to take control of, well, Them. His physical body couldn't take it, and he passed on. His student attempted to repeat the experiment not long after. He was taken over by Them. Says he 'turned the color of night with flaming hair,' or something to that effect. Sounds like our Charlie, no?

"It doesn't elaborate much on what happened. Obviously the student was hunted down, many died, so on, so on.. But there is little elaboration on what the student did differently."

"And this helps us, how?" Wilson asked.

"I've been contemplating things. The same elder was very focused on meditation. It says he was able to undergo surgery while meditating, which I'm sure sounds preposterous to you. Something tells me this is the key to it."

"So, you're saying… you need to meditate?"

"I would need to have a strong mind, Higgsbury. The Codex speaks of Them entering the minds of others, consensually or not. I believe the elder was strong enough to control Them without rejecting Them all together. Some enigmatic balancing act."

"That sounds tedious."

"Very much so. I would study longer, but I'm afraid I barely have time to do that much."

"We still need to find the other things."

"Indeed. Let's go, Higgsbury. I can study during my watch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playing Maxwell in DST made me realize just how accurate him getting beat half to death was. Sorry, my friend Blue, who had to revive me twice :(
> 
> Stay tuned for more backstory, witty quips, and maybe just a little platonic bonding.


	5. Part 5

“Tell me, Higgsbury.” Maxwell offered. The air felt stiff around them; there was no wind to cut through the lingering tension. It was quiet. Only the distorted sounds of their shadow servant filled the air. “What is the world like now? What, didn’t you say it was already 1920?”

“Well, when I left, it was 1921. When were you pulled in?” Wilson asked.

“April of 1906.”

“1906? That explains some things. You sure missed a lot. Prohibition, the Great War, the Titanic, League of Nations… Those were the major things, I suppose.”

“I don’t even know where to start.” Maxwell shook his head. “Has everything gone to bloody hell?”

“Almost did,” Wilson said. “But the economy’s booming, if that means anything to you. I hear about parties all the time. I think people drink more now than they did a decade ago.”

“Ah, so, alcoholic prohibition?”

“Yes. I suspect in a hundred years, it will be considered one of the great failures of the United States Government. They put in the Constitution and everything.”

“They banned alcohol in the _United States Constitution?”_

“Yeah, see? Strangest thing.”

“Well, tell me about this war. The Great one. I presume America was involved?”

“Oh, goodness. Everyone was. The entire continent of Europe. Canada, Australia, some other Asain countries, I think. It’d probably be easier to list off the countries that weren’t involved.”

“What catalyzed all this?”

“Oh, I dunno, some Serb shot an Austro-Hungarian Archduke, and everyone started calling their allies to go to war.”

“You’re joking, right? No great revolution? No political upheaval?”

“I wish. It was like all the world’s conflicts were put in a crock pot and shaken until it all went to hot wet goop.”

“Your eloquence proceeds you, Mr. Higgsbury.”

“That’s the only way I can describe it. Hot, wet goop.”

“Then, there was surely conscription.”

“Oh, yes. Most people were all for it. Propaganda, you know. And, don’t worry, we were on the side of Great Britain.”

“You better have been. Did you fight on their front?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t serve.”

Maxwell stopped in his tracks. “Wait, you didn’t serve? What do you mean you didn’t?”

“I didn’t.” Wilson shrugged with his hands, still walking. “Never thought much of solving other people’s issues with my life on the line.”

“You dodged the draft?” Maxwell legged up to him.

“Nah, they didn’t want me, anyway.”

“How, exactly, did you talk your way out of it, hm?”

“That’s a secret of a gentleman scientist,” Wilson winked.

“Surely, they didn’t think your… profession was pivotal enough to let you stay in the States?”

“Nope. I don’t dabble in government money, after all.”

“Do you have some sort of malformality I never recognized?”

“They just took one look at me and said, nope, we don’t want ‘em.”

“Hmph,” Maxwell conceded. “Stranger things have happened, I’m sure.”

“I’m surprised you of all people — Oh, look, look!” Wilson interrupted his own train of thought. He sprinted off their path, into the trees. Maxwell raised an eyebrow.

“And he thinks I’m mad.”

“Look, Maxwell!” Wilson called.

“I’m not falling for whatever it is you’re pulling.”

Wilson jogged back, a smile on his face, and hands clasped behind his back. 

“What do you—”

“Shh!” Wilson stopped him. He pointed to one ear. Rolling his eyes, Maxwell paused to listen. Bounding, bouncing footsteps came toward them.

“Oh, don’t tell me.”

“May I present to you, Otto von Chesterfield, Esquire.” 

The furry beast leapt up to them, taking a moment to smell the eye bone in Wilson’s hands. Wilson flipped around with fingers primed to pet. 

“Hello, Chester!” He cooed. “Did you miss me? I sure missed you! Good boy. How’s my little baby boy? Oh yes, I know, I know, I was lonely too.”

“Higgsbury, have some dignity.”

“Fuck dignity. It’s Chester!” Wilson picked him up. “How can you say no to that face?”

Chester panted eagerly. He leaned forward to smell Maxwell, but Maxwell kept a healthy distance between them.

“You do realize that’s probably a different Chester than you’ve had before, don’t you?” Maxwell asked. 

“No! He remembers me! Don’t you, buddy?” Chester licked his face. “I thought so.”

Maxwell sighed. “There’s no use arguing with you about keeping him, is there?”

“You got to keep Harris. He can’t even do anything.”

“You take that back!” Maxwell snapped. “He’s a lot better than _that_ beast.”

 _“Don’t listen to him,”_ Wilson cooed. _“In fact, we’re going to keep walking forward, and pretend he’s not even following us.”_

“You’re worse than a child.”

“My father taught me two things about life, Maxwell. Work hard, and have fun. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been having a lot of fun.”

“You call this fun?”

“Come on, Chester. We’re close, I know it.”

One cycle, Wilson had figured out fireflies would still glow in Chester’s stomachs. Stuffed full of bugs, he led them arbitrarily into the dusk. Occasionally, one would sneak out, and he would jump up and catch it again. 

“You know what I miss?” Maxwell asked.

“Hm?” Wilson responded.

“Dancing.”

“Dancing, really?”

“What of it?

“I never took you as the type.”

“Well, to be honest, I was never very good at it. But it was fun.”

 _“You,_ having fun?”

“I know, it’s hard to believe. Once in a great while I would go out.”

“Never had any interest in it.”

“With the right person, perhaps?”

“Oh, that’d be worse. The pressure! Dancing alone at home to a record, I can see. _Maybe_ if you’re already married.”

“It was, uh, quite terrifying. Speaking of which — shall we make camp?”

To the light of Chester, they rolled out the usual supplies. Firepit, bed rolls, and Wilson’s ever-present science machine. Wilson looked away as Maxwell read instructions from his Codex; the puppet could rest and keep watch, for now.

“I was lucky enough to have someone teach me how to dance,” Maxwell explained as he tucked his book away.

“That’s how you do it,” Wilson said. “Master it ahead of time. Somehow.”

“I still remember it. If you ever want to, I’m sure I could get this puppet to teach you.”

“What kind of dances did you have back in 1906? ‘Stand six feet apart and stare at each other’?”

“The one I’m thinking of was called the Turkey Trot. It was quite risque in its day.”

“Somehow, I believe you.” Wilson sat down and rested his arms on Chester. “I think I’ll pass.” He pulled off his pack and shuffled through it.

“I couldn’t blame you, really,” Maxwell said. He sat down with a shallow sigh. He rubbed at his chest and propped his feet up next to the fire. “What about you, Higgsbury?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Wilson mumbled through a mouthful of jam.

“What was your life like, there? I saw a portion of it, through the PR-76. I wasn’t, exactly, playing attention to the details. All I remember is your house in the middle of nowhere, and your pigs. There were pigs, weren’t there?”

“Yes, there were,” Wilson answered.

“Why did you have pigs? Guinea pigs for your rudimentary science?”

“First of all, pigs are physiologically very similar to humans, so they would be appropriate Guinea pigs. Secondly, they were for self-medicating. Thirdly, your nosiness is reflected on your face.” 

“You didn’t have to lowball me like that.”

“It felt appropriate.”

“What kind of self-medicating? Had science finally found the medicinal value of bacon?”

“If you must know,” Wilson breathed. “I have a congenital hormonal imbalance. I use the hormones from the pigs to regulate my levels. Took a few months to perfect the dosage, but I assure you, it was a miraculous discovery. I didn’t even specialize in biology in school.”

Maxwell squinted at him. “Is that why you’re so short?”

“Not everyone has as many tall genes as you, you know.”

“Just a musing.”

“I probably would’ve been taller, given the proper conditions. But, it’s too late to do much about that. Phenotypically, I am almost indistinguishable from the average man.”

“Is that why you weren’t drafted?”

“You figured that one out sooner than I thought! Congratulations.”

“Makes logical sense. What did you do with all of your free, phenotypical time, other than bothering swine?”

“Research, of course. I have a number of papers written in a variety of subjects. Chemistry, astronomy, physics, wildlife biology, and the few on medicinal biology. You saw it all, I’m sure.”

“How many of those were published?”

“A good many of them,” Wilson sneered. “It was perfect. There’s nothing that clears the mind more than fresh air, as I’m sure you’re aware. No people or automobiles or factory noise or light pollution. I only went into town a few times a month for essentials. I had never been more focused in my life.”

“Explains what you’re still doing here,” Maxwell said. “Your life wasn’t so different before you came here.”

“That’s a bold assumption.”

“Well, other than your house, what else was there? We even have pigs.”

“Those fellas unnerve me, for the record. Especially with my prior association with them.”

“I didn’t want to botch a sentient monkey. Not my territory.”

“Thank you. Goodness, that would be horrible. Anyway. Do you know what I had? Security, consistency, a place to spend money. People when I needed them. Proper tools. Warm clothes. _Indoor plumbing._ And what do I have here? Feral hounds and man-eating plants? Killer bees?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

“No, I don’t think you get it. You’ve been so wrapped up in this little world for so long, I don’t think you remember what reality is like.”

“Oh, I remember it very well. I had, what, fifteen years to dwell on it.”

“The world was a completely different place fifteen years ago! Electricity was brand new! You hadn’t been ravaged by war! You didn’t live through the fear of the Spanish Flu!”

“You’ve convinced me, I’ve missed out on so much.”

“Don’t be a smartass. I know you miss civilization as much as I do.”

“Let me ask you this, Higgsbury. Were you happy?”

“What sort of pretentious question was that?” Wilson bellowed. “Of course I was happy! I had my own house! A reputation! I was _normal_ for once. The only good thing about this place is I don’t have to wrangle pigs to keep healthy. I only have to make sure nothing else kills me. Remember that? Not wondering when the next predator might come at you? Not hearing creatures in the wind at night? Not having to shave large animals in the dead of night, which, by the way, could also kill you, in order to not freeze to death?”

The last word echoed against unseen barriers. Death. The villain which pursued them, now, unceasingly. 

“You’re right.” Maxwell cleared his throat. “It was an obtuse question. I… have been here longer than my own good. I’m sorry.”

 _“You’re sorry?”_ Wilson scoffed.

“I shouldn’t have taken you away from your world. I have no righteous excuse. I can try to justify my actions all I want, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have done many wrongs to many people.

“No one has any obligation to forgive me. I made the wrong decisions. And if it is my destiny to rot here, then so be it. But there is no reason for you to complete this sentence with me.”

“We’re both getting out of here. Remember?” Wilson asked.

“If all goes according to plan, yes. But I don’t remember the last time Lady Luck was in my favor.”

“I decided not to kill you on the spot.”

“See, Higgsbury. You chose correctly. In my shoes, someone like you would never have orchestrated such a predicament. I can’t see you being corrupted by its power. I may be naive, but, I never expected death. Revenge, yes. But not capital punishment. I would suffer, but I would live.”

Wilson looked at his hands. The scarred, callused skin reflected all the beings he’d hurt over the countless days. One patch of thick skin had been worn by the spear he so often welded. It was to survive, he told himself. It was to survive.

“I wasn’t on the Throne for very long,” Wilson said aloud. “Charlie freed me before my whiskers grew out. Still… that little time felt like an eternity. I was perpetually terrified. I barely remember it, really, because it was too much for my mind to take. All I remember is fear.” He looked up to meet Maxwell’s eye. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

Maxwell pursed his lips, barely able to stop himself from looking away. 

“We should get some sleep, Higgsbury.”

“I suppose we should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By GOD was March a month. Strangest time of my life. Not a lot of time or energy to write until now! Might as well remind people I'm still alive. I also have little to no wifi most of the time. Fun stuff. But enough about me! Everyone stay safe, have fun, and enjoy the wild world we live in <3


	6. Part 6

“Maxwell. Maxwell, wake up.”

“Higgsbury…? How long was I asleep?”

“Doesn’t matter. Get up. I think I found something.” Before Maxwell even opened his eyes against the harsh morning light, Wilson shoved something in his hands. He took it blindly, and his stomach rumbled. Smelled like food.

Maxwell stumbled to his feet and followed the blurry silhouette of Wilson out of camp. He consumed what he had determined to be mystery morsels. He tried not to think about it as they traversed the undergrowth.

His blood pressure returned to normal by the time they reached their destination. A crossroads was surrounded by simple farms; carrots and an eyebone stuck out from the ground. Chester sat, patiently waiting.

“You found it,” Maxwell breathed. “How — how long were you gone this morning?”

“Who cares! We have another one!” Wilson scurried over and picked up the thing. He examined the vague lump of metal. “Isn’t this the one that’s your head?” 

“I don’t — it could be.”

“It is. The ol’ metal potato thing.”

“The what?”

“I still remember the first time your ugly mug laughed at me. Good times.”

“I know. It is a little ridiculous. Are you done?”

“For now.” Wilson clutched it to his chest and looked to the ground around him. “I was thinking we could plant these farms. They’d be good insurance if we run out of food. Especially for your bunny.”

“Fine with me.” 

“Save a carrot for him now. We should have a feast!” 

“Hold on Higgsbury.” Maxwell managed a handful of seeds out of his pockets. “Aren’t you getting a little overexcited? There are five pieces to the machine. This makes two.”

“It literally gave us food as a reward.”

“What happened to stockpiling?”

“I say we treat ourselves for being one step closer to home.” Wilson hefted the potato thing to Maxwell. “Here, you take this back to your puppet. I’ll plant.”

“Alright, alright. Burn some of that energy off.” Maxwell took the head in one arm and dropped the seeds in his open hand. He turned around and blinked the last of the sleep out of his eyes. Smoke bellowed not far from here — camp wouldn’t be hard to find.

It was quiet as Maxwell walked back. Neither Wilson nor his wobbly puppet accompanied him. For the first time he could remember, he was alone with his thoughts.

What did he think about, all those years ago?

He pulled the metal head out from under his arm and turned it over in his hands. Although it was unrecognizable in its dormant state, he recognized different parts. The lights, of course, were the eyes. The stained metal was the hair. The wires were in the shape of an ear, he thought. A small laugh escaped from his nose. He frowned.

The smouldering campfire was closer than it looked. Maxwell let it suffocate in its own ash. He tossed the thing to his puppet. He ignored its perfect catch; he went to the nearest chest and shuffled around inside. He remembered watching Wilson making something. Surely, with the simple science machine in the camp, he could figure it out. 

He was nearly done by the time Wilson returned. 

“Oh, great idea!” Wilson cheered. He ran up to the rickety crock pot standing before Maxwell and dumped a handful of carrots inside.

“You’re going to make carrot medley in a crock pot,” Maxwell said.

“Uh, my hands were full.”

“How many carrots were there?”

“I got distracted. Doesn’t matter.”

Maxwell fished a few of them out of the pot. “What else you have for food?”

“Lots. Uh, honey’s still good. We have lots of that.”

“Perfect. Bring it here.”

“And some meat!” 

“Higgsbury, what in the world have you been doing in your spare time?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Maxwell shook his head, but filled the crock pot with the ingredients Wilson handed him. He shooed Wilson away with one waving hand and leaned over the pot.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Wilson said.

“I haven’t in a long time,” Maxwell said. “Besides the obvious. Mum taught me, back when I was a boy.” 

“That’s surprising.”

“My dad would take out my older brother and teach him all kinds of things. Me, too, eventually. I was a few years younger. So, Mum made me help cook.”

“I mean that you ever had a mother.”

Maxwell shook his head. “Jack can hunt, but he can’t cook what he shoots.”

“That your brother?” Wilson asked.

“Yes. Jack Carter. Poor bastard. His brother went missing twice. Can’t imagine how he took it the second time.”

“I’m sure you had a nice funeral.”

“He had the money for it.” Maxwell hefted his creation from the crock pot. “Here. This one’s yours.”

Wilson barely kept his balance as Maxwell handed him a large hunk of meat. He nearly dropped it, with only a sticky honey glaze keeping it in his hands. His eyes lit up like Christmas morning.

“Thank you, Mr. Carter!” Wilson’s voice dripped with sarcasm like the honey from his ham.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Maxwell frowned and turned back toward the crock pot. 

“See how you like it,” Wilson raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t really go by that name anymore.” 

“Your family name?”

“Maxwell is my professional name.”

“What, just Maxwell?”

“Maxwell the Great, I suppose. The Amazing Maxwell was on the last poster, I believe.”

“Is Maxwell your birth name?”

“What’s it to you?” Maxwell sneered.

“Oh, I can’t believe it. Your whole persona is fabricated.” 

“Yeah, yeah.”

“That’s alright. I’m not gonna make you spill the beans about your past. Then I’d have to.”

“It’s a deal. Just, don’t call me Carter.”

“Alright, Alright. I’m fine with any of my names, for the record.”

“Yes, I figured.”

“Wilson Percival Higgsbury. I had a friend who called me Percy, once.” 

“I’m not calling you Percy.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Good.” Maxwell dug his second creation out of the crock pot. Then again, and again — he pulled out a dozen morsels coated in honey. 

“Chicken nuggets?” Wilson asked.

“Don’t pretend you’re not jealous.” Maxwell took a bite of one. “Ah, this reminds me of home. Hot, home cooked meals. I was so spoiled.”

“And we will be again, knock on wood.” Wilson tapped his knuckles against the nearest tree, then wiped a sticky leaf on his pants. 

“You know what I miss? A proper bed. Been ages since I had a good sleep.”

“Did you sleep at all on the throne?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“I thought that was strange.”

“Sometimes I forget you were on the throne too, Higgsbury.”

“Hey, yeah, let’s not talk about it.” Wilson sucked a drop of honey off his finger. “We should figure out where to go next, instead.”

“I think we should stop back at the main camp,” Maxwell said.

“Yeah, yeah, me too. We can take another route back to scope things out.” Wilson pulled out his map. “Here, look.” He shuffled over to Maxwell’s side. “This is the route we took from camp, right? We can circle back around the other way. Gives us plenty of room while not going too out of the way.”

“I think I remember seeing a stretch of path near there. We should follow it,” Maxwell said.

“Oh, perfect! I remember a bunch of stuff was near paths. You were going soft on us, huh?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Maxwell shrugged. “Got boring watching you wander aimlessly after a while.”

Wilson crossed his arms. “Well, that’s the plan. First thing tomorrow, we take the path.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I graduated with a Bachelor's Degree in Biology just to get this chapter out. You're welcome.  
> Stay safe my friends xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends. This was originally a really long one-shot. I decided to arbitrarily split it up so I can post it. It's still in progress, but I have most all of it planned out!


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